The lights returned slowly, flickering weakly above the café.
But Adrian was gone.
His chair still rocked gently from where he had sat moments earlier. The envelope of photographs remained on the table, untouched except for one image now resting separately beside her coffee cup.
Sebastian stood alone on a shoreline at night.
No footprints around him.
No reflection beneath him.
The sea behind him looked wrong — perfectly still, black as oil, stretching into a horizon without stars.
On the back of the photograph, written in faded silver ink:
HE WAS FOUND AFTER THE TIDE WENT OUT.
Drea stared at the image too long.
Something inside her shifted when she looked at him. Not fear. Not even curiosity.
Recognition.
Like remembering a face from a dream she’d had before she was born.
Outs
